The Fallen

While Amos Decker and his journalist friend Alex visit Alex's sister in Baronville, Pennsylvania, Amos discovers two dead men in a nearby house, but finds the police and unseen forces are stonewalling the investigation.

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Everything you would expect from Baldacci, a veteran of this thriller/police procedure genre. The Memory Man lives on, solving a complex whodunit in the small town of Baronville. The opioid crisis of today is layer out in the convoluted (intricate) story of multiple murders, with lots of suspects and possible motives This is a fun, quick, page turning action novel- if you like Baldacci, you will like this novel.

A modern-day violent story that "too damn much" money from the opioid trade corrupted those in a dying mining/milling town that is trying to make a comeback, but at what cost? Not an ordinary drug war novel but includes other twists about old money, new economy and their flaws/frauds: "Who would have thought one town could have so much crap going on separately?"

I do so enjoy the characters Decker/Jamison as well as Baldacci's writing; however, one has to suspend disbelief to a marked degree to enjoy this novel. I didn't care for the storyline, but the writing is top notch and laying the puzzle pieces to see the big picture is flat out fun!! While I would surely recommend this book, I would advise going in with your imagination open because the story is a stretch.

Slower to develop than his usual tale. The Memory Man had to do it all pretty much on his own. A rather complex story of rust belt woes, sadly it is very factual in the turn to opiates in the rust belt today. Addiction is always the escape never the cure.

Quotes

WHO KILLED YOU? Or, who murdered you? There was, after all, a distinct difference.
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There was justifiable homicide, the best example of which was self-defense. There you intended to harm another, but the law said you had the right to defend yourself. There were varying degrees of murder.
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The social awkwardness had not always been a part of him. The six-foot- five, three-hundred-pound–plus — well, maybe more than simply plus — Decker, a former professional football player, had once been outgoing, gregarious, a bit goofy even, fun-loving and always ready with a quip.

If you were negligent in causing that car accident or dropping your weapon, and someone died, you could be charged with involuntary manslaughter. A spontaneous bludgeoning, resulting in death, could end with the perpetrator being charged with the more serious crime of voluntary manslaughter. Second - degree murder, a close cousin to voluntary manslaughter, had the element of malice aforethought, and possibly recklessness, but not the additional one of premeditation, or lying in wait, as it was often called. Decker sipped his beer as he went through the legal requirements of intentionally ending the life of another. The last one was the worst of all, in his estimation. First-degree murder almost always required the specific elements of willfulness, premeditation, and malice aforethought.

Then had come the vicious blindside hit to the head on the football field that had changed his life, and who he was, forever. The resulting brain trauma had almost killed him. And while he had survived, the blow had forced his brain to rewire itself to allow healing to occur. This process had left two distinct marks on him.
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One was hyperthymesia, or perfect recall. Those possessing such a condition often could apply it only to autobiographical information, and often had below-average memory capacities in other aspects of their lives. But not Decker. It was as though someone had placed a camera with a limitless capacity to take pictures in his head. He was the memory man, unable to forget anything. Decker had found it a decidedly mixed blessing.

The second result of the hit was his developing synesthesia. He associated odd things, like death, with a color. In the case of death, it was a visceral electric blue that could raise the hairs on the back of Decker’s neck and make him feel sick to his stomach.
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“Warehouses are the big job creators now,” said Jamison knowingly. “I’ve been reading articles on it. It pays okay, above minimum wage, with benefits, but it’s really physically hard work. ”
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“We got a lot of problems in this town. Businesses boarded up. Houses foreclosed on. Many with no jobs and no prospects of a job. Opioid addiction is through the roof.” “That’s not just here,” said Jamison. “It’s all over.”
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But you can’t solve every murder you come across. It’s impossible. You’ll just be setting yourself up to fail. ”

“When I was a kid the mines and mills were still operating. People had money. Dads worked, moms stayed home and raised the children. People went to church on Sunday. Downtown was alive and well. Then the mines and mills went belly-up and everything came tumbling down. Because it all depended on the mines and mills. They were the only reason there was a town. ”
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It’s why they don’t build many fulfillment centers in or around big cities. Land and everything else is too expensive.” “Well, areas like this can certainly use the jobs,” pointed out Jamison. “Problem is, we can’t fill all our positions.” “Why not?” asked Jamison. “You’d think people would be banging down the door to get jobs there.” “They are. But they can’t pass a drug test,” said Frank. “We’re starting to recruit from other parts of the state, and even across the border in Ohio.”

“People burglarize their neighbor’s house so they can sell the stuff for cash to service their addiction. Or a son embezzles his mom’s bank account to do the same. Or a granny steals from her granddaughter’s piggy bank. It’s seriously demented stuff and happens every day.”
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“And heroin is popular because you get a gram of it for about fifty bucks and it’ll last you a lot longer than fentanyl or OxyContin, which runs about, what, eighty bucks a pill on the street?” “Hell, you don’t have to buy it on the street anymore. They’ll deliver it right to your house, like pizza. Or they get it from pharmacies or the local Boy Scout troop leader. Or it comes down one of the drug pipelines around here. They crush and snort it, inject it. They even chew on fentanyl patches instead of putting them on their skin to get the pop” …

“People burglarize their neighbor’s house so they can sell the stuff for cash to service their addiction. Or a son embezzles his mom’s bank account to do the same. Or a granny steals from her granddaughter’s piggy bank. It’s seriously demented stuff and happens every day.”
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“And heroin is popular because you get a gram of it for about fifty bucks and it’ll last you a lot longer than fentanyl or OxyContin, which runs about, what, eighty bucks a pill on the street?” “Hell, you don’t have to buy it on the street anymore. They’ll deliver it right to your house, like pizza. Or they get it from pharmacies or the local Boy Scout troop leader. Or it comes down one of the drug pipelines around here. They crush and snort it, inject it. They even chew on fentanyl patches instead of putting them on their skin to get the pop” …

Our OD rate is up nearly seventy percent from last year. And the last ten cases we’ve investigated have been people over sixty-five. Some people call it ‘Rust Belt Retirement.”
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They don’t want to spend tax dollars they don’t have on people they don’t think give a damn. They hear methadone treatment center and think it’s what meth addicts take to get their high and not the drug used to treat that addiction. They don’t want ‘these’ people around them, not coming to grips with the fact that ‘these’ people are often members of their families. So some say let’ me die and good riddance.”

“Slaves, accept the authority of your masters, with all deference. For it is to your credit if being aware of God, you endure pain while suffering unjustly. ”
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“Decker sounds like he’s good at this, though.” “He’s the best I’ve ever seen. I think he’s the best the FBI has ever seen. ”
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What’s so special about this place that it garners that much unusual homicidal activity? ”
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He was a ruthless man, so I understand. He crushed unions, paid off corrupt politicians, polluted rivers and the air and the ground. He paid his workers as little as he possibly could and treated people in general as badly as he could. He made an immense fortune and his descendants sponged off that accomplishment.
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FILES. AND MORE files. Paper bones with very little meat.

It was from an era when money flowed freely, no income taxes were due, the world lived both more ostentatiously and more simply, and everyone knew his place. Globalization was not even a term, and information moved far more slowly, leading to a blissful ignorance among most. Men were the breadwinners. They came home from work, spent time with their families, smoked their cigarettes, drank their beer, listened to the same radio programs and later TV shows as the rest of the country, went to bed, and got up to do it all over again, while women did the same on the home front .
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He had a lot of stamina back then, but he could never sprint far enough to outrun the grounds of his home. It had been a both comforting and humbling feeling.